


long hair don't care

by ballsdeepinjesus



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Tangled AU, but i tagged it with fantasy so i am the sassy girl emoji, heavy doses of cheesiness as well i will not lie to you that's it goodbye, however there's the extremely unlikely existence of lube, i think? i, i've never been so lost for tags before what do i PUT, oh boy, only mildly there's mostly plot, sexed up disney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2303519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballsdeepinjesus/pseuds/ballsdeepinjesus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He catches his breath and stands, brushing dirt off of his breeches when he hears a scared peep behind him. Louis spins around, startled, and is greeted by the sight of an extremely pale boy with extremely luscious dark brown curls. His hand starts to reach out involuntarily to try and pet his hair, but he stops it quickly and tries to smooth it into a bow. He glances up, fluttering his lashes, and levels the trembling boy with a charming smile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Hi,” he drawls. He doesn’t see the frying pan until it’s too late. Everything goes black.</em></p><p> </p><p>[harry is sheltered and louis is a thief. or, a tangled au.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	long hair don't care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arghthisisannoying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arghthisisannoying/gifts).



> yikes okay so i wrote this all in a couple weeks as a pinch hit so i just want to deeply apologize if any of this seems ~off~ or there are some loose ends but i tried my best i hope u like it!!!!! fuck
> 
> also sidenote: pls do not murder me pals for not giving harry traditional rapunzel-in-tangled length hair i was gonna but then i was like hey wouldn't it be cuter if harry's hair was his current length bc he IS rapunzel already why am i still talking no one cares ims s royu

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Niall,” Harry declares, huffing out an impatient breath while he pierces the eye of his needle with a pale lilac thread. “I am not _bored_.”

The chameleon at his feet squeaks and shoots a pointed glance at the hole Harry is mending in his trousers. He squeaks twice more and settles his stubby arm against the sewing basket, cocking his little chameleon eyebrow in sarcasm. 

Harry gasps and drops the needle. “I did not purposely tear my trousers just to have something to do. I simply got carried away while I was cleaning around the fireplace,” he says. “How was I supposed to see the fire poker?”

He pauses while he starts to thread the needle again, contemplating his next words. “And I don’t know why you’d think I want to get away from Mother. She’s been very good to me, Niall. I love it here.”

Another squeak. “What do you mean?” _Squeak._ “I know I haven’t seen any other places, but that doesn’t make this tower any less lovely!” _Squeak_. 

Harry carefully drapes his trousers over his seat and drops the needle and thread into the sewing basket. “Of course I want to see the lights.”

The lights. Harry glances at the colorfully painted walls of the tower and sighs, dragging his fingers through his curly hair. Nearly every spare inch is covered with some sort of design -- flowers, portraits of Harry and Niall, the trees he can see from his window -- but weaved throughout every painting are the lights. 

Every year on his birthday, hundreds upon hundreds of glimmering lights brighten the sky far away from his home. As a child, Harry came very near to death several times when he climbed into the archway of the window to get a closer look. Silly as it may seem, he’s always felt they were special -- like maybe they were for him. 

Mother is always quick to dispel those notions, however. For the past few years Harry has begged and pleaded to be taken out of the tower so he can finally see the lights up close, but the answer is always the same. _It’s dangerous out there for a boy like you, Harry. There are bad men out there who will do you harm._

All Harry knows of the outside world is that it’s dangerous. He shouldn’t _want_ to leave.

But he does.

Niall startles him out of his despondency when he climbs his leg and settles himself into his lap, giving him a sad stare. Harry tickles the underside of his chin softly and sighs. “I want to see the lights, Niall,” he admits. 

A faint whistling tune drifting through the breeze in the window catches Harry’s attention. Mother. 

Harry hurries to pack away his sewing basket and settle it in it’s rightful nook. He grabs a broom and tries to do some last minute cleaning before Mother appears and berates him for the state of their home. His home, really, since Mother is always away. Keeping him company has never been her strong suit as a parent.

There’s a loud _crack_ behind him and a hiss of smoke as Mother appears by the window.

“ _Har-ry_ darling,” she trills, “Come give Mother a kiss. I missed you so much, pumpkin.” Her black hair is streaked with much more grey than there was a week ago, and the wrinkles in her skin seem much more pronounced. Her dark grey eyes scan him contemplatively as he walks over and gives her a hug, grateful for human interaction. 

Her hands thread through his long curls, twisting the ends that rest in between his shoulders. “Your hair is getting longer,” she observes proudly. She moves her hands to his face and pinches his cheeks. “Face is getting a little round though, darling. Maybe you should bake less cookies, hmm?”

Harry’s cheeks burn as he looks down at his feet, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Yes, Mother,” he murmurs. 

“That’s my boy,” she chirps, patting his cheek affectionately. She steps aside to take off her cloak, draping it on the windowsill. She ambles over to the cushioned seat by the fire and plops down with a heavy sigh. “Come, pet. Sing for me.”

It’s a routine Harry has long since grown used to. Mother visits and has him sing for her, stays an hour and leaves again. She claims she’s out trying to protect him from those who want to bring him harm, but frankly Harry is starting to think she doesn’t want to be around.

He takes a seat at her feet anyway, wiggling back until his head rests in Mother’s lap. She takes her brush and starts to drag it through the long strands of his hair as he sings.

 _Flower, gleam and glow_ ,” he starts. “ _Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine._ ”

Harry watches the golden reflection from his shimmering hair shining against his closet while he sings. Mother’s hands slow to a crawl when he finishes; she runs her hands through his hair once more, tickling the skin near his ear. 

“Thank you, pumpkin,” she coos. “That was beautiful.” 

Harry turns in his spot and sees a much younger looking Mother, grey hairs turned black and wrinkles gone, one he’s grown used to seeing over the years. He’s struck by a thought, suddenly. _This_ \-- this singing and magic and loneliness and everything are going to be his entire life. He’s going to keep going through these motions hundreds of times over until he dies in this tower.

It’s the fear this idea stirs within his heart that makes him ask again. “Can I ask you for something, Mother?”

She hums pleasantly from her relaxed spot in her chair, eyes closed as she rests. “Of course.”

“Well, my birthday is in just a few days…” he trails off, waiting for her to prod him on.

She opens one eye and frowns. “Didn’t you have one of those last year?”

“I--,” Harry starts, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. “That’s how birthdays work. Every year.”

Heaving out a dramatic sigh, Mother sits up and rests her chin in her hand, looking pointedly at his face. “And what is it you want this year, dove?”

Harry knows how this part goes. He knows what she’ll say, but he has to ask anyway, even if it’s a fruitless effort. “I want to see the lights.”

Mother pales and digs her long nails into the arm of the chair. She breathes in deeply, chest heaving loudly in the silent tower while she glares at him. “The _lights_ ,” she drawls harshly. “It’s always the lights. You’re never going to understand, are you?” She stands abruptly and stalks away from Harry to the windowsill where she grabs her cloak and drapes it over her shoulders. “You’re a delicate little flower, Harry. The world out there, it’s -- it’s--,” she balls up her fists in frustration and stomps her feet petulantly. “It’s bad. It hurts me that you still ask to leave. To leave _your mother_.”

Harry watches in horror as she wipes at her misty eyes and turns to leave. “No!” he calls, scrambling to his feet and tugging her arm to pull her back. “I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t want to leave you and I -- I trust you.” He lets her arm fall back to her side, wrapping his arms around his torso instead. “I won’t ask again. Maybe for my birthday you could just bring me some fabric?” He lifts one shoulder in a weak shrug. “Maybe like that pretty fabric you found in Edenwall. Could make some nice scarves from that for my curls,” he jokes half-heartedly. 

Mother tuts and runs her fingers through the baby curls near his temple. “That’s a week’s journey, pet. As long as you’re sure that’s what you want.”

It’s not. He knows what he wants but he also knows he’ll never get it. He might as well stop trying. 

“Of course, Mother. I’d love it,” he answers. From the corner of his eye he sees Niall throw his hands up in exasperation and turn to lay in the sewing basket. He knows how he feels, truly, but as Mother kisses his forehead and disappears as fast as he came, he thinks he’s done all he can. Harry belongs in the tower; he just has to accept that.

***

Louis wants a castle. He _deserves_ a castle.

The view of the kingdom is breathtaking from where he stands on the castle roof. He’s supposed to be stealing the crown of the lost prince right about now, but he figured he could use a small break to take in the sights. He’s not often in the village of Corona; he tends to stay away from places that have awful renderings of his face plastered everywhere on Wanted signs. That tends to put him in a spot of trouble.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss it, however. There’s a dull pang of sadness in his gut as he watches young children traipse down a same street he’s walked hundreds of times before. 

The church bell clangs loudly to his right, startling him into almost dropping his bag down the shingles of the roof. He clutches it to his body protectively and shakes his head, turning away from the view of the kingdom. He’s not here for pleasure, he reminds himself. Well. The money he gets from selling the crown will surely bring him _lots_ of pleasure, but he has to get to it first. 

He climbs over to the sunroof and digs his lockpick out of the side pocket of his bag. Undoing the hinge is surprisingly easy; after all this is over he thinks he should send the King and Queen a strongly worded letter warning them about their security’s shortcomings.

He unlatches the small opening as quietly as he can and quickly but securely ties a rope around his waist.

The next fifteen minutes happen in a blur of very important events:

1) Louis creates a diversion. Hopefully the explosion on the street outside didn’t cause _too_ much property damage.  
2) Louis plummets into the guarded room -- now cleared of guards -- and grabs the crown from its glass case.  
3) Louis tries very hard to channel his younger self during physical exercise classes at the schoolhouse as he painfully and slowly climbs back up the rope. This was not one of his better ideas.  
4) Louis runs.

He makes it to the small church on the outskirts of the village before he finally hears the sound of horses galloping behind him. He thinks he hears a distant, angry call of “Tommo!” that reverberates around the crowded buildings.

“Dammit, dammit, _dammit_ ,” he pants, working his legs harder and faster to gain some distance. Not that he has much of a chance against _horses_ , of course, which. Shit. He’s going to be caught. Caught and drawn and quartered despite the fact that the King and Queen of Corona are revered countrywide for their pacifist beliefs. He thinks they’ll make an exception when it comes to the criminal who _stole their missing son’s crown._

As he comes closer to the edge of the village, he realizes he has two options: turn right and head down the road into Warrenstall or turn left and push his way through the forest. Louis has never been known to take the right path in life, so to speak, so...left it is. 

He makes the immediate decision to head for the densest part of the woods to try and slow down his pursuers. If the riders slow down to stop their horses from being injured, Louis just might have a fighting chance of escaping without shackles at his feet. He twists and turns and heads for a fallen tree, intending on jumping over and hiding behind it. The shouts have died down for the most part, but, worryingly, one persistent galloping footstep has seemed to have gotten louder in comparison. He chances a look behind him and immediately regrets it.

A white stallion with angry chocolate eyes is bearing down fast -- without a rider. The horse whinnies fiercely and lowers his head as he charges faster after him. 

“What the f--,” Louis is cut off when he trips over his own feet and falls straight on his arse. The tries to scramble upright but the horse gets there first, pushing his chest down with one hoof while he huffs hot bursts of air into his face. Louis glances down at his chest plate: Zayn. A beautiful name for a beautiful, albeit _terrifying_ horse.

“Pleasure to meet you, Zayn,” he says. “Now this is very awkward, but I think you’ve been chasing the wrong man. If I could just get on my way, that would be -- hey!” Zayn interrupts him by chomping at his bag and nearly taking his hand with it. Louis turns over onto his belly and crawls fruitlessly forward, but the horse pushes him down into the dirt before he can get very far. 

As he lays there, Louis considers his options. He turns his head slightly to the left and sees nothing but trees. Apple trees, oddly enough. He turns to his right and sees more of the same. 

Apples. Horses like apples. Zayn may possess superhuman strength and an oddly fleshed out degree of emotional intelligence, but he’s still just a horse. 

Louis musters the last of his energy and staggers to his knees, pushing back against Zayn’s hoof and forcing him to stumble backwards. He grabs one of the tools in his bag and throws it upwards quickly, aiming for one of the low-hanging branches. A few of the apples fall down to the ground, looking red and juicy and rather appetizing if Louis wasn’t in such a dire situation. Zayn on the other hand isn’t fazed. He is fazed, however, by the downward trajectory of the metal hammer that hands on his head. 

Louis winces at the impact but takes his chance anyway once he sees Zayn isn’t seriously hurt -- he’s not a _murderer_ after all. The distraction buys him enough time to change his direction and sprint towards the distant grassy areas of the forest. He weaves in and out of the trees for what seems like miles, trying to outrun the distant sound of Zayn’s hooves. 

He turns behind a stone wall to hide and lets out a surprised shout that he quickly muffles as he falls onto his backside behind a curtain of leaves. He lays there for a moment, catching his breath as he watches the shadow of Zayn’s silhouette pass by his hiding spot seconds later. Only when he hears an indignant neigh from a good distance away does he finally climb to his feet and look behind him.

The first thing he sees is a completely misplaced tower. Amidst the beautiful scenery, lush green plants and foliage, there is an ugly stone construct jutting out hundreds of feet from the ground. Louis tilts his head and ponders how it got there and what purpose it’s currently serving. There’s no way to find out other than to climb up, is there?

With two strongly constructed arrows, a large helping of upper body strength, and an even larger helping of pure luck, Louis makes it three quarters of the way up the tower without too much of a struggle. The last stretch up nearly kills him with the amount of exertion it takes; he’s clinging to the windowsill desperately when he finally makes it, flinging himself up and over the window with the last bits of his strength. He falls onto the floor with a loud crash and gives sad thought to the amount of bruises that are sure to be littering his back by the end of this journey. 

He catches his breath and stands, brushing dirt off of his breeches when he hears a scared peep behind him. Louis spins around, startled, and is greeted by the sight of an extremely pale boy with extremely luscious dark brown curls. His hand starts to reach out involuntarily to try and pet his hair, but he stops it quickly and tries to smooth it into a bow. He glances up, fluttering his lashes, and levels the trembling boy with a charming smile. 

“Hi,” he drawls. He doesn’t see the frying pan until it’s too late. Everything goes black.

***

“Oops,” Harry squeaks. He drops the frying pan to his feet and lets out a horrified gasp. When he heard movements outside his tower he’d assumed Mother had come back for something, but he’d quickly realized the manly grunts coming from outside where decidedly _not_ those of his Mother. He’d panicked, sure that those thugs he’d always been warned about had found him and were going to chop him into tiny little pieces and eat him for lunch. So he’d grabbed the nearest blunt object -- his frying pan, since he’d been about to make eggs -- and armed himself.

He just got a little too eager with the blow. 

Hesitantly, Harry tiptoes forward and nudges his foot against the man’s side. He’s breathing, but he’s definitely out cold. Harry looks down at Niall who seems just as frightened as he is, cowering behind the fallen frying pan.

Harry gets closer and peeks at the man’s face. He’d been too scared to really look at him when he’d spoken earlier, vision hazy with panic because _he was going to die_. He brings his hand forward, ignoring Niall’s frantic protests behind him, and pushes a lock of hair away from the man’s face.

Harry gasps and falls onto his knees. He’d been expecting an ogre, quite frankly, not...not this. The man is _gorgeous_. He has delicately arched eyebrows that lead down to a perfectly sloped nose. His cheekbones are absolutely marvelous; Harry wonders if he’s been carved from stone. Harry’s eyes dart down to his lips and it takes every ounce of restraint to stop himself from thumbing at his pink lower lip. He’s never seen a boy in real life before; he had no idea they could be so beautiful.

He tried to break into his home, though. That’s very much not a good thing. Harry turns to Niall and tries to convey his absolute cluelessness as to what to do with his eyes because he’s sure if he tried to speak all that would come out are screams. Niall seems to understand, though, because he saddles Harry with a disapproving look and points a small green finger towards Harry’s bed. Right. He probably needs to restrain him.

It takes a lot of effort to lift all of the man’s dead weight from the floor, but after a few minutes of struggling he manages to drag him across the floor with his hands gripped under his arms. When he gets to the bed Harry lets him fall back onto the soft mattress so that all he needs to do is move his legs. Harry makes the quick decision to strip his sheets from under his body and rip them into smaller lengths to tie his limbs to each bedpost. Once he’s secured, Harry heaves out a nervous sigh and climbs onto the bed, settling himself onto the man’s thighs. He waits.

***

When Louis comes to, all he can see are the lanterns. The lanterns the King and Queen send up every year in hopes of finding their lost son. They’re due to be released in a few days, but if Louis is seeing them _now_ , well. He wasn’t asleep that long was he?

His vision clears, however, and he finally sees that he’s looking at painted walls. Sky high ceilings decorated entirely in brightly painted landscapes with bright lights weaved in between. It’s quite lovely, actually, very soothing -- _shit_. The tower. He’s in a tower and there’s a mysterious weight on his legs and he’s afraid to look because he’s sure he’s about to be beheaded. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it.

“Um,” an unsure voice wavers. Louis peeks one eye open and sees the young boy from before perched on top of him, frying pan in hand. He looks terrified, honestly, and Louis starts to believe he has a chance of escaping this tower unscathed. 

“Well hello there,” Louis purrs. “Can’t say I’m unaccustomed to waking up with boys on top of me, but never one as beautiful as you, princess.” He flutters his eyelashes for good measure, bucking his hips up gently just to remind him of their position.

The boy gasps as a dark red flush overtakes his skin. He lowers the frying pan and scans his eyes over Louis’ body.

“I’m not a princess,” he says. His eyebrows furrow together suddenly. “I’m a boy, how could I be a princess?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Regardless, darling. This is a very compromising position we’re in, wouldn’t you say? Now I’m not unopposed to a roll in the hay right about now, but I’d much prefer it if you’d untie me.”

“What’s a roll in the hay?” the boy answers, confused. Jesus Christ, Louis has a virgin atop of him doesn’t he? He opens his mouth to answer, but the boy interrupts him. “And I’m not untying you until I know why you came here. You’re here for my hair, aren’t you?” With that, he raises the frying pan in what would be a threatening manner if he didn’t look like a scared bunny rabbit.

“While you’re hair is very nice and very curly -- quite quirky, actually, I like the way it curls around your ears -- I’m not sure what I’d want with it. I didn’t come here to hurt you, Princess.”

“I told you I’m not a princess,” the boy argues. “My name is Harry and this is my tower and you’re here for something. Mother warned me against criminals like you.”

“Very nice to meet you. I’m Tommo and once more, _I don’t want anything from you_. Except for you to untie me. I can’t argue that I am indeed a criminal, but,” he pauses, shrugging his shoulders as much as he can, “I’m not like, a bad one.”

“All criminals are bad,” Harry responds. His frying pan is lowered again, though, which Louis counts as a good sign.

“That is a very narrow world view, Curly,” Louis says. “Now. Untie me. Please. It’s only fair after you tried to _kill me_.”

Harry lets out an outraged gasp and slaps the palm of his hand softly against Louis’ chest. “I would _never_. You came into _my_ tower, you know. I panicked.”

“Panicked and hit me with a blunt object. Wonderful,” Louis answers sarcastically. “Un. Tie. Me.”

Harry pinches his lower lip in between his thumb and forefinger. He looks off to the side and mouths something at…nothing? Louis looks but all he sees is a meticulously clean floor. Harry might be suffering from delusions. Maybe that’s why he’s locked in the tower. In which case, Louis really needs to make an escape.

“I’ll untie you,” Harry says unsurely. Louis grins. “If,” he continues as Louis’ grin falls, “You take me to see the lights.”

“The lights,” Louis repeats. Harry nods, looking confident for the first time in this exchange. Louis looks around the walls behind him and realizes what he means. “You mean the lanterns?”

“Lanterns?” Harry asks. “That’s what they are? I _told_ you they weren’t stars, Niall!” 

“Okay, first off, who are you talking to? Secondly, yes of course they’re lanterns. Have you never been outside before?” Louis questions. 

“Niall is my pet chameleon,” Harry says, pointing towards his side. A small green lizard makes himself visible and shoots Louis a dirty look. Well then. “And no? At least, I don’t think,” Harry whispers. “Maybe when I was a baby. Mother said it wasn’t safe for me outside.”

“Because people would steal your hair,” Louis says dryly. Harry nods. “Right. Princess, I’m afraid to say this, but I just came from the village and I’m not exactly wanted there right now. Well, I’m wanted, but not in a, uh, positive way, if you know what I mean.” Louis flashes him a smirk but Harry just seems confused. “Whatever. What I’m saying is I can’t take you there, so if you’d untie me I’ll just scurry out of your way and let you live happily ever after.”

“No!” Harry shouts. Louis flinches as Harry accidentally waves the frying pan near his already sore head. “I need you to take me there. _Please_. Or else,” he pauses, pursing his lips and flipping his hair to the side in frustration. “Or else I won’t give you your bag back,” he finishes. He wraps his arms around himself smugly and gives Louis a self-satisfied smile. Twat.

Louis weighs his options. One, he could say no and possibly end up tied to this bed for the rest of his life. Two, he could say no and leave without the crown. Or three, he can take Harry into the village and leave him behind immediately. The kingdom probably won’t expect to see his face again so soon. He might be able to pull it off.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll take you and your dumb lizard to see the lanterns, Princess.”

“Chameleon. And I’m not a princess,” Harry corrects. His eyes light up as he claps his hands together excitedly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He climbs off of Louis’ body and starts to unravel the bed sheets at his ankles. When he leans over to untie his wrists, his curls tickle Louis’ face. He blushes as Louis smirks at their close proximity.

Finally free, Louis sits up and rubs at his sore joints, shaking out the numbness in his head too. Harry bites his lip and grabs Louis’ bag, stuffing it with spare clothes and blankets.

“We’re not going on vacation, Curly,” Louis offers. “Pack lightly.”

Harry nods and looks down into the bag in contemplation. He removes one shirt and settles it delicately on the top of his bureau. He snaps the bag shut and grins. “Done.” Louis tries not to roll his eyes.

“Since you’re probably not going to let me come anywhere close to that bag, could you kindly reach in and grab the coil of rope. I’d rather not risk my life on the way out of here,” Louis says. Harry eagerly complies, handing Louis the rope. Louis scans the area near the window to find a place to tie it off; he settles on the reasonably secure looking latticework above the window. He loops the rope through one of the holes and ties it strongly twice, throwing the excess rope down to the ground. It ends about fifteen feet above the ground, hopefully low enough that he won’t break any bones. 

“Alright, Princess. You first.”

***

The first touch of his feet to the grass sends a tingle shooting down his spine. He spreads his toes hesitantly into the soft ground and gasps at the feeling of something other than _concrete_ beneath his feet. He takes a few hesitant steps and then a few more, twirling around and stomping into the grass. He looks up at Tommo with a wide grin to see he’s landed a few feet away from him and is staring at him like he’s mad.

“This is the first time I’ve felt grass,” Harry mumbles, self-consciously. Niall runs around on the grass in front of him excitedly. “It’s nice.” It’s really nice. Harry looks around and feels his breath leave him like a punch to the gut. It’s beautiful. Everything is so...so _big_. He takes a few steps and then breaks into a delighted run, skipping through the overgrown greenery and laughing. “This is so great!” he screams. 

He makes his way to a tree, falling against the bark and feeling it dig harshly into his skin. He looks up and watches the leaves shake with the breeze. He runs to the wildflowers next, ignoring the impatient shouts coming from near the tower. He falls to his knees and shoves his nose in a bright pink flower, inhaling its potent scent. He plucks it and tucks it behind his ear, moving on to the next and smelling that as well. His head is becoming dizzy with all of the new sensations he’s experiencing -- the smells and the feelings and the sounds. He lays down on his back in the grass and spreads his arms and legs wide, looking at the clouds in the sky for what feels like the first time. 

He’s startled when a bright blue butterfly peacefully lands on the tip of his upturned nose. He watches it with his eyes crossed until it flutters away as quickly as it came. “Incredible,” he whispers. 

“Yes, amazing. Such beauty, very exciting. Can we get this show on the road, buttercup?” an annoyed voice cuts in. He turns his head and sees Tommo watching him, elbow rested on the tree with his hip jutted out. “I’d like to get this over with by the time I’m forty.”

“How old are you?” Harry asks instead.

“Twenty-two,” he replies, picking at his nails absent-mindedly.

“I’m seventeen. Eighteen in two days. When we see the lanterns,” Harry babbles. 

“That’s great, Curly. Not that I asked. Can we go?” Tommo dusts his hands on his trousers and rests them on his hips.

“You’re not very polite,” Harry mumbles as he gets up, adjusting the strap of Tommo’s bag against his chest and looking around for Niall. 

Tommo’s face softens incrementally. “I’m not trying to be rude. I just,” he pauses, wrinkling his nose. “I want to get away from this area sooner rather than later. And I’m not exactly excited about heading back towards the castle.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry answers. “But I’ll be out of your hair shortly, I promise. Just take me to the lanterns.”

“The lanterns,” Tommo repeats. He lets out a deep sigh and rubs the palm of his hand along the scruff lining his jaw. “I can do that.”

***

The start of their journey is hampered slightly by the fact that Louis has no idea what direction to go in. He’d kind of just ran haphazardly into the forest and now he’s not sure which way actually leads back to the town. He says as much to Harry, but the boy just shrugs placidly. “I’m sure we’ll get there eventually,” he says. Louis thinks Harry probably has too much faith in him.

They walk aimlessly around in search for a path, but the silence quickly drives Louis mad. Harry seems fine, however, distracted by everything he comes into contact with. Half of their slow progress can be blamed on Harry stopping to look at every new kind of tree he finds. Louis can’t exactly begrudge him of this. Watching Harry’s first moments outside of the tower was kind of life-altering. He tried to hide it behind his usual mask of sarcasm and annoyance, but he’s sure he’s never seen anything as heartwarming as Harry giggling while a butterfly landed on his nose. 

“Is this an oak tree?” Harry asks, circling the wide trunk of a humongous tree they come across. The branches are so heavy that they touch the ground; Louis thinks idly that it looks like the Grecian monster Medusa he read scary stories about as a child. He shivers a bit and turns back to an expectant Harry.

“Not sure. I’m not exactly an arborist, pal.” 

Harry frowns and looks around his feet for a leaf. “Do arborists study trees? I think I’d like to do that. Maybe animals as well. Butterflies! I’d like to study butterflies.” He nods surely and smiles as he continues babbling. “Is there a name for that?” 

He doesn’t give Louis a chance to answer; he lets out a sound of triumph as he inspects the pretty green leaf in his hand. “This _is_ an oak tree! I saw a sketch of this leaf in one of my books.” He clutches the leaf to his chest and lets out a happy sigh as he looks up at the foliage around him. “It’s lovely. I’m so glad I’ve finally seen this in person. Did you know they were sacred to the Druids? Read about that as well.”

Louis gapes at an oblivious Harry. For someone who’s been locked in a tower his entire life, he knows a remarkable amount of information about the world. He clears his throat. “Curly...” Harry turns to look at him with a small smile. Louis never noticed before, but he has dimples -- actual, full-blown dimples that crater deeply in his cheeks. “Can you explain this whole tower thing to me? You’ve honestly lived there your entire life? You’ve never seen a tree before?”

Harry shrugs and gives him a sad look. He tries to school it into a more pleasant expression, but Louis can see a whole lot of confusion in his face. “I’ve seen some from my window,” he admits. “But never up close. As far as I know, I’ve been there my entire life. It was for the best.”

“Because…” Louis prompts.

“Because it’s dangerous of course,” Harry answers. “My hair.”

“Your hair,” Louis repeats. “Your hair is absolutely marvelous, Curly, I’ll admit this.” Harry preens at the compliment, threading his long fingers through the shiny strands. Louis reaches over and tugs at one of the wispy curls at the bottom, rubbing the silky strand in between his thumb and forefinger. Harry looks a little shocked, so Louis moves back quickly. “But, uh. Why would people want it exactly? To make wigs?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Harry sighs. “You just have to trust me. And I trust Mother. Mother knows best, after all.”

“To be brutally honest with you, darling, I really don’t think she knows best. That seems rather manipulative of her.” Harry looks like he’s about to protest, so Louis hurriedly adds, “But that’s none of my business.” He raises both hands up in surrender. “So you’ve been trapped in the tower for all of your life. What are you going to do when this is over?”

There’s silence for a moment and Louis wonders if Harry might not answer. 

“I guess I’ll go back home,” Harry whispers. There’s a pang of unhappiness that shoots through Louis’ heart at the thought of that; he doesn’t dwell on it. 

“Then I guess we have to make this one hell of a journey, don’t we Curly?” Harry beams at him while Louis ignores the pleasant twist in his tummy at the sight.

They spend the rest of the afternoon much the same way. Harry asks Louis about everything he sees, checking it against the things he’s read in his books. With the exception of his old teacher at the orphanage, Louis thinks Harry might be one of the cleverest people he’s ever met.

***

It only takes a few hours for small seeds of doubt to worm their way into Harry’s mind. He thinks of Mother coming home and finding the tower empty. She’d be devastated _surely_ , worried that someone had hurt him. It’s enough to give him pause; he finds himself slowing down until he the point where he’s nearly going backwards, retracing his steps.

Tommo turns, seemingly bewildered at the sight of Harry dawdling. “Is something the matter?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Harry assures him. He breathes in and out. “No I’m not,” he moans. “I shouldn’t have done this. It’s so dangerous! Mother will be so worried if she finds out and _I’m_ worried because not everyone we meet will be as kind as you and I can’t believe I did this what was I thinking? What was I _thinking_ \--.” His panicked ramblings are halted when the other boy clamps his hand over his mouth. He’s close now -- closer than he’s ever been before. For a moment all Harry can think about is the blue of Tommo's eyes and the stubble lining his jaw.

“Harry,” Tommo says sternly. That’s the first time he’s said Harry’s name this entire day, he thinks. He wants to hear him say it again. Always. What? He shakes his head at the thought, dislodging his mouth from Tommo's palm. “Calm down. Breathe.”

Harry does as he’s asked, breathing in deeply while Tommo counts him off, telling him when to exhale. After a few moments, his thoughts start to clear from the jumbled mess they were before. 

“Now,” he says. “Let’s address your concerns. This isn’t dangerous. You’re with me and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” He pauses after that, giving Harry time to process this. When he nods, Tommo continues, “Maybe your mother will find out, but quite frankly she deserves a scare for keeping you locked away -- _don’t_ argue with me, it’s true. Furthermore, everything will be _fine_. The big, wide world is your oyster, Harry. There are good people and bad people, but that’s half the fun, innit? Keeps life interesting I think.”

Harry quirks his lips and nods. 

“So what we’re going to do now is--” Tommo looks around their surroundings, settling his gaze on a nearby boulder. “Sit. We’re going to sit and you’re going to rattle off some inane yet charming facts about that chameleon hiding in your pocket because I _know_ you’ve read about them, and then we’re going to start up again and get you to the lanterns. Okay?”

Harry read a book once, a book about two people who fell madly in love. Mother bought it by accident and he hid it from her before she could find it again. In the book, one boy falls madly in love with the other boy after he saves him from the dragon. He never thought he’d get to experience something like that -- his options were rather limited, as it were.

But with Tommo sitting beside him, actually looking _invested_ in the details of Niall’s diet like he actually has something interesting to say, Harry feels a small bud of hope blossom in his chest. Maybe he has a chance.

***

They restart their journey an hour later, Harry buzzing with renewed energy and Louis buzzing with a yet to be determined feeling he resolutely refuses to identify. Only a little while later, he spies a building off in the distance.

“Hey,” he says, tugging at Harry’s arm. He points him in the direction of the building and raises his eyebrows. “We could ask for directions?”

When they get closer, they see a sign out front that reads, “SNUGGLY DUCKLING TAVERN.” Harry giggles at the name and quickens his pace, forcing Louis to move faster to keep up. He gets a little uneasy when they get within shouting distance and all Louis can hear is the clank of glasses and the loud murmur of men singing drunkenly. This place is decidedly not giving off a very snuggly duckling vibe.

Harry hurries forward anyway until he’s standing right outside the door. He straightens his trousers and his shirt and tugs a silky scarf from his pocket, tying it around his head. Louis steps forward and helps him tie it up in the back, smiling secretly at the blush that lights up Harry’s cheeks. 

“Thanks,” Harry murmurs. “Just want to impress the first people I meet.”

“Did I not count? Didn’t seem too interested in impressing me when you conked me on the head with your frying pan,” Louis scoffs. 

Harry frowns and pets regretfully at Louis’ head. “I’m really sorry. Of course you count. You count the most.”

Louis contorts his lips rather painfully to keep a grin off of his face. 

Harry takes a deep breath and puts on his most charming smile as he turns and pushes the door to the tavern open. Louis walks in right behind him, keeping a protective hand poised over his hip. Nearly everyone in the tavern turns as the sunlight from behind them lights up the bar. And oh, what a sunny crowd it is.

The man to Louis’ left is missing an eye, a deep fleshy scar running right through the middle of his socket. A man to his left is approximately seven feet tall and probably the weight of Zayn. Possibly larger. Another man has a knotted beard that reaches his feet which is only half as disgusting as the bulbous wart on his nose. Yet another man is covered in tattoos that Louis recognizes from a very, very brief stint he did in a local prison a few villages over. They are amongst the very criminals Harry is terrified of. 

Harry, however, doesn’t seem to notice. His smile doesn’t falter as he turns in a circle and greets everyone with a cheerful, “Hiiiiiiiiiii.” The entire bar is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Harry walks straight up to the bar and sits on one of the stools, aiming a grin at the bartender. “Do you serve milk?” he asks.

Louis drags his palm down the side of his face and tries to figure out the best way to pull Harry out of here with only minimal bloodshed. He sees glints of metal around the thighs of everyone in there that he thinks might be daggers. He tiptoes toward Harry and keeps watch for any sudden movements in his direction.

“Hey, I like your beard,” he offers to a man a foot away from him who’s directing a particularly bloodthirsty glare in his direction. “Do you use some kind of oil to keep it shiny, or?” The man grunts at him and bares a mouth full of jagged black teeth. “Right, thanks. Great talk.” Louis gives him a mocking salute and turns back to the bar to get Harry.

He’s a foot away from Harry when a deep, throaty laugh that sounds like it bubbled up from the pits of hell catches his attention. He snaps his head up in alarm and sees the bartender whip his head back, hand on his rotund belly while he laughs. _Joyfully_. Harry turns and gives Louis a pleased grin. “Told ‘em a knock knock joke,” he whispers.

That seems to break the ice. The rest of the drinkers in the tavern go back to what they were doing, drinking themselves into oblivion and wagering money they don’t have in card games. Louis seats himself on the stool next to Harry and asks for two pints. The bartender seems a little colder towards him than he is to Harry, but as long as he’s getting served he doesn’t care. 

“You can’t drink milk in a fine establishment like this, Princess,” Louis says. He pushes one of the pints toward Harry and smirks. “You need to take your first drink.”

Harry eyes the slightly dirty glass speculatively, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass and splashing a little onto the countertop. He raises it to his lips and takes a small sip; he scrunches up his nose and gags, sticking his tongue out in distaste.

“This is disgusting,” he spits. “No offense, Gerard,” he assures the bartender who gives him a beefy shrug in return. “Why do people drink this?”

“Forget their woes, escape their burdens, ignore their families,” Louis says breezily. “Mostly because it’s fun to be drunk. Chug it up, buttercup.” 

Harry takes a deep breath and raises the glass to his lips once more. He locks eyes with Louis as he pours it into his mouth and chugs the entire pint down. He slams the glass back onto the counter when he’s done, wiping foam from his lip and letting out a delicate burp. “That was--,” he gasps. “Awful.”

Louis grins and downs his glass. “Would you like another?”

An hour later, Harry is properly sloshed. Louis is buzzed himself, but he has enough sense to keep watch over Harry. Especially with the way some of the men have been eyeing him up. Louis scowls and reaches over to thread his fingers through Harry’s curls, massaging at his scalp. _Mine,_ he thinks. And -- no. Harry is very much not his. He’s pliant and warm at his side though, nuzzling his nose into Louis’ collarbones, and Louis wants him to be his. Just for a night. Or two. Or his entire life. Maybe when all of this lantern business is over, Louis can sell the crown and convince Harry to run away with him. He’s heard Wortenfield has beautiful weather this time of year. 

God, he’s emotional when he’s drunk. 

Harry starts nosing a little closer to Louis’ neck, snatching his attention back from his sappy reverie. 

“You smell good,” Harry murmurs. 

Louis shivers under the touch and laughs nervously. “I haven’t bathed in two days, love, but thank you.”

Harry peeks up at him owlishly through his lashes. “I like you,” he breathes. He straightens his torso and places himself even further in Louis’ personal space, nearly pressing their noses together. “You’re very handsome. Quite manly. Rugged.”

They’re in a room full of brutes with enough facial hair to weave a blanket and Harry is calling _Louis_ manly. He blusters a bit, crossing his eyes as he watches Harry’s mouth. 

“You’re quite lovely yourself,” he replies, trying to move back and create some space. Harry isn’t having any of it. In fact, he responds to Louis’ attempt at separation by standing up and placing himself in Louis’ lap. He ducks down and before he knows what’s happening, Harry seals their mouths in a kiss. It’s probably one of the sweetest kisses he’s ever experienced, no doubt due to Harry’s complete and utter innocence. 

His innocence. Right. He can’t do this. He pulls back -- regretfully -- and pushes at Harry’s shoulders, ignoring his frown.

“We can’t -- we shouldn’t -- I’m a _thief_ , Harry,” he whispers. 

“Mmm, you stole my heart, alright,” Harry giggles.

“That’s awful,” Louis replies. “No, Harry. I’m a criminal. A thug. A _ruffian_.”

Harry finally gives up and pulls back. “I know,” he says. “You’ve told me. Also I saw the wanted poster on the inside of the tavern door. King and Queen are offering one thousand gold pieces for your capture.”

He said that last bit a tiny bit too loud, apparently, because everyone in the bar turns to stare at him. “Fuck,” he curses. “Harry, we’re going to have to make a run for it in two seconds, because these men are going to get violent.”

Harry looks frightened but also very indignant. “Because they want that money?” He stands abruptly and throws himself over Louis’ body, glaring at everyone in the bar. “I thought we were all pals here!” he yells. “If you turn Tommo in, _you’re not my kind of pal._ ”

“Harry,” Louis cuts in, but Harry keeps rambling on.

“Tommo is going to take me to see the lanterns and I need to see the lanterns because I’ve never left my tower and all I’ve ever wanted is to see the lanterns so why can’t you respect that,” he blubbers. He’s getting weepy as well, voice choked as he continues his tirade. “He’s helping me. He’s a good person which none of you will be if you turn him in.” He sniffles wetly as his entire face crumples. “And I really, really like him,” he sobs.

There’s an approaching clatter of hooves from the outside that draws Louis’ attention away from his imminent arrest and Harry’s breakdown. Through the window he sees a furious Zayn -- this time with a rider -- approaching the tavern. Louis groans, realizing he’s screwed on both ends now. 

“Snuggly Duckling,” a posh voice calls from the outside. “We’re looking for a fugitive known as ‘The Tommo.’ Please lay down all of your weapons while we come inside.”

Louis feels a strong hand grip the back of his shirt and jerk him backwards behind the bar along with Harry. He looks up and sees the bartender -- this time with mysteriously misty eyes -- kneel to the ground and open a trapdoor. “Go,” he orders. “We’ll cover for you. Head to the forest and hide. Good luck son.” He pats Harry’s head with more force than intended, but Harry doesn’t care; he throws his arms around his wide body and gives him a quick hug.

The trapdoor leads down to their storage cellar which thankfully leads them back outside into the forest. It’s getting dark, a fact they use to their advantage as they run through the trees and into a clearing. They hide behind a large rock a half mile away and catch their breath. Harry takes Niall out of his pocket and lets him find a spot to curl up and sleep. The little chameleon is shaking in fear; Louis reaches out his hand and strokes a finger down his back to soothe him. Within minutes, he’s asleep.

“That was close,” Harry whispers.

“Yes, it was,” Louis says. He watches as Harry lays out the thin blanket he’d stuffed into Louis’ bag onto the ground. “We should be safe to sleep here for the night.” Harry nods and settles onto the blanket, pulling Louis forward to lie by his side.

Just before they fall asleep, Louis speaks up. “My name isn’t Tommo,” he says lowly. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry opens his eyes and watches him carefully. Then he smiles. “A name fit for a prince.”

***

They don’t wake up until late into the next afternoon and everything is weird. Not a bad weird, but weird nonetheless. They don’t talk about this kiss, but Harry keeps shooting him pleased little glances that make the blood in Louis’ veins buzz happily. He also tacks on Louis’ name to the end of each of his sentences, almost like he’s reveling in knowing that secret.

Louis hasn’t told anyone his real name in years, and that’s...big for him. If he starts to think about what it means, why he told him and how it _felt_ to tell him, he starts feeling a resurgence of those sappy thoughts he had last night and he can’t have that right now. He has a task to do that demands his attention: get Harry into the village. He’s already decided to prolong the visit and actually see them with Harry (because he’s an idiot). After all of that… _maybe_ he can think about getting Harry to abandon his tower completely. After the lanterns.

“Do you think we’re close at all?” Harry asks. Both of them conveniently forgot to ask for directions at the Snuggly Tavern last night. Louis could kick himself.

“To the village? Dunno, really. I don’t think we’ve been going in circles, but I really hadn’t ran that far into the forest when I found you and we’re still lost, so…” Louis sighs as he trails off. “Maybe I need to tattoo a compass on my arm because I sure as hell need one, Princess”

“Not a Princess,” Harry murmurs, but this time his protest comes with a tiny grin directed at the ground. He shakes his curls out in front of his face and hides his blush behind them. Louis looks ahead with a smirk on his face.

They walk in silence amiably for awhile when Louis hears it. A tiny _snap_ far behind them like a broken tree branch. Louis throws out an arm to stop Harry from moving as they both pause in their tracks. Another _snap_ this time a bit louder, now that he’s noticing. Quickly, Louis grabs a thick branch and whirls around, ready to fight.

He’s greeted with the now extremely unwelcome sight of Zayn, by himself again -- Louis has half a mind to wonder if he threw his rider off awhile back -- and just as angry as before. Zayn kicks one foot out behind him and snorts angrily. 

“We need to run,” Louis whispers. 

“It’s just a horse,” Harry says. “What will he do?”

Louis looks at him, aghast at that prospect of Zayn being anything but terrifying. “Kill me, Curly. He’ll kill me. _Run_.”

As luck would have it, once they turn around they only make it a few feet before Harry trips over his own clown-sized feet. A week ago Louis probably would have kept running, but he can’t bring himself to leave Harry behind. He tries to quickly help him to his feet and keep going, but Zayn gets there first. He pushes Louis onto his back and steps on his hand; Louis tries very hard to ignore the painful crack that echoes throughout the forest. Harry doesn’t.

“No!” he yelps. “Stop!” He clambers to his feet and gets right in Zayn’s face. “No more. Now you are going to give Louis his hand back and take about three steps towards that tree.”

Astonishingly, Zayn complies. He gives Louis an annoyed snort and moves away, huffing and kicking at the dirt restlessly. Louis sits up and scooches back against a tree, cradling his broken hand. The little lizard Niall climbs into his lap and gives Zayn a dirty look, almost like he’s trying to protect Louis. Huh. Louis has unknowingly grown a very small, probably useless, but very cute ally. 

Harry speaks to the horse in a low, soothing timbre. “I know why you’re chasing him and I get it,” he starts, ignoring Louis’ cry of protest. “He’s a thief -- don’t deny it, Louis -- and you’re supposed to catch him.” 

Zayn finally looks at Harry, interested in what he’s saying. Louis is once again impressed by his oddly human-like characteristics. 

“But he’s like...mine? I need him -- what’s your name? -- Zayn. What a gorgeous name! Almost as gorgeous as you.” If Zayn had eyelashes, Louis is sure he’d be fluttering them. “Now, Zayn. Louis here is escorting me on a very important mission that’s going to make me _really_ happy. I’d love it if you’d join us, but I need you to _not_ kill Louis along the way. Please?” he pleads. Harry scratches Zayn under his chin and bites his lip while he waits for his answer.

Zayn looks at Louis and rolls his eyes -- honestly, what the fuck -- and heaves out a heavy, horse-y sigh. 

“Thank you!” Harry chirps. “You wouldn’t happen to know the way back to the castle would you?”

Louis silently counts his blessings when Zayn stands at attention and nods, taking the lead. He wouldn’t want him to get a big head, after all.

***

The almost make it into the village that night, but with Louis’ concerns about being caught they decide to camp on the other side of the lake instead. Zayn dozes off under a tree with Niall curled up on top of his fur. Harry’s glad he’s made a friend other than himself. A life of loneliness isn’t good for anyone, he’s decided. Himself included.

He’s about to tell Louis as much when he sees the way he’s laying, hand cradled close to his body. 

“Are you okay, Louis?” Harry asks. He still gets a pleased thrill whenever he uses his name -- he trusted _Harry_ of all people.

“‘m fine,” Louis assures him. “Just, uh. Zayn got a little heavy-hooved on my hand earlier.”

Harry crawls over to him and uncurls Louis’ wrist from his hand. He gasps when he sees it, purple and swollen and _very_ painful-looking. It’s Harry’s fault that this happened; if Louis had never met him he’d probably be happily on his way to a better life by now. 

But he can do something to help.

“I’m going to try something,” Harry says. “But you have to promise not to freak out.”

Louis nods after just a second of contemplation. Harry gently takes ahold of his hand, cradling it in his palm as he lifts it towards his hair. Louis cringes slightly at the movement but allows it, waiting for whatever is next. Closing his eyes, Harry begins to sing: 

_”Flower gleam and glow._  
Let your power shine.  
Make the clock reverse.  
Bring back what once was mine. 

_Heal what has been hurt._  
Change the Fate’s design.  
Save what has been lost.  
Bring back what once was mine.” 

Harry opens his eyes and watches the golden light of his hair illuminate Louis’ awestruck face as he sings the last bit, “ _What once was mine._ ” The light from his hair slowly fades out as they’re left with only the moonlight reflecting off of the lake. Louis’ curls grip his hair tightly; Harry lets off a choked whine right as Louis gasps and tears his hand away, staring at it in wonder.

“Was that -- did you--?” he stutters, clenching and unclenching his now healed fist.

“Remember how I said people wanted me for my hair?” Harry whispers. He shrugs and fiddles with one of his curls nervously, scared to look Louis in the eyes. “That’s kind of...why.”

“You have magical hair.” It’s not a question, more so a statement of muted incredulity. Harry nods. “That’s...that’s incredible.” Harry jerks his head up and sees the awe in Louis’ eyes again. There’s no fear or nervousness or _anything_. Louis lifts his hand and threads his fingers through his hair again, massaging at his scalp and tucking a curl behind Harry’s ear. “You’re incredible.”

Harry gets a feeling in his tummy -- a feeling he felt when he met Louis and that _moment_ at the tavern and when Louis told him his real name. He wants to kiss him. So he does.

He leans down and presses his lips gently against Louis’. Louis twines his fingers tighter in his hair as he pulls him closer, responding eagerly this time to the kiss. The warm feeling in his belly erupts into a cozy fire in his veins. He’s never felt this happy before and he’s sure he’ll never feel this happy back home in his tower. 

Harry pulls back to breathe, keeping his lips close to Louis’ as he rubs his nose against his affectionately. Louis grins up at him and gives him a light peck on his lips, then his nose, then each of his cheeks before pulling back and laughing softly. 

“Incredible,” he repeats. Harry blushes and tucks his face into his neck while Louis rubs his back and kisses his ear. 

They fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other to keep warm. Harry wakes up a few hours later with a crick in his back from sleeping on the ground -- the one thing he misses about the tower is his bed, it seems. Instead of falling back asleep, he stands and walks to the lake to look across the water at the village. It’s hard to believe that tomorrow night he’ll be seeing the lanterns from this same spot. 

Smiling, he looks down at the water and nearly screams at the sight of his angry Mother in the reflection. He thinks he’s just seeing things but then she starts speaking. 

“I am _so_ disappointed in you, Pumpkin,” she starts. “I got that nasty feeling in my stomach that something awful had happened to you -- call it mother’s intuition -- so I rushed back to the tower only to see you disappeared. I thought someone had _taken_ you, Harry. Only to see you’ve apparently left of your own volition.”

“I had to see the lanterns,” Harry whispers. “You were going to keep me shut up in that tower forever, Mother. You have to understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” she sniffs. “You defied my orders and left; you _disrespected_ me and for what? Those damn lanterns which are highly overrat--.”

“Mother,” Harry interrupts. “I met someone.” For the first time, she seems caught off-guard. 

“You...met someone? In the woods? Who could you have possibly met?”

“His name’s Louis,” Harry answers with a smile. “He’s lovely. See you were wrong about all people being bad, Mother. He may be a thief but he’s so wonderful.”

“A thief! You left me for a no good _burglar_.” She clutches her chest dramatically and swoons before sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “You have to come home immediately. You’re in danger, flower. That criminal is going to break your heart.”

“He’s not,” Harry says surely. “He won’t. I love you Mother but I’m staying. I’m seeing the world for the first time and, and--,” he breaks off, looking deep into his Mother’s reflection and sighing. “I like what I see. I can’t go back.”

Mother’s reflection grows stormy, her scowl deepening as she scoffs. “You’re wrong. You’ll see.” With that, she disappears, leaving nothing but a ripple of water in her wake. Confused, Harry stands and wipes dirt off his trousers. He keeps looking at the water but Mother doesn’t return.

Harry walks back to Louis’ sleeping form and crawls next to him, curling against his side as he settles in for a night of restless sleep.

***

Louis can tell something is wrong with Harry the next morning. He’s pensive and quiet, obviously troubled by something, but he denies it everytime Louis asks. His expression always clears when Louis catches his attention, however, so Louis decides to leave it alone and continue packing up their meager supplies.

It occurs to him while he’s stuffing his bag with the blanket that he _has_ the crown. If he wanted to, he could take off running right now and never see Harry again.

He almost laughs at the thought. The idea of never seeing Harry again is positively painful. If need be, he’ll move into his tower with him and live out the rest of his life in hermit-like bliss. He thinks he might need to talk to Harry about this. Tonight. He will tonight.

They all paddle across the lake in a shoddy boat they find near the shore. Zayn swims happily outside the boat, surprising them all with his endurance. Niall takes a risk and rides on Zayn’s head, tiny hands clutching Zayn’s ears.

When they make it across, Louis ties the boat to a tiny dock with the remains of their rope. Harry stands uneasily at his side, shifting his weight from foot to foot while he looks around at his surroundings. Just a few hundred feet away from them is the hustle and bustle of the inner village. They’re celebrating today in preparation of the lanterns in the evening, and Louis can hear singing and music drifting in the breeze.

Louis takes hold of Harry’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly when he’s done tying up the boat. Harry startles at the contact but smiles when he sees Louis; his eyes are wide and watery and Louis is struck with the desire to make this the best day of Harry’s life. 

“C’mon, Princess,” he says. He tugs on Harry’s hand and pulls him toward a beaten path while Niall and Zayn follow them from behind. “Time for you to meet civilized society.”

The first person they come across is an old merchant wheeling his produce down the cobbled street toward the square. He turns when he hears footsteps behind him and smiles kindly at their group.

“Hello boys! Going into town for the celebration?” he asks.

“Yes sir,” Louis responds earnestly. He points his thumb in Harry’s direction. “My friend here has never been into the village before. This is his _first time_ ,” he whispers theatrically. Harry blushes at his side and twists his fingers in front of him. 

“Your first time in the village? What kingdom are you from, son?”

“Here,” Harry replies. “Just, um. Never made it far past home.” Harry shoots Louis a secretive smile. Never made it far past home, indeed.

“Well I certainly hope you enjoy yourself tonight, young man. The lanterns are truly a sight to behold. Terrible tragedy of course, but most of us have forgotten about that by now.” The man shrugs his shoulders and looks up at the castle looming far off in the distance. “King and Queen certainly haven’t, bless their hearts.”

Harry looks confused, but Louis stops him before he asks. He’ll have to explain it to him later.

“We don’t want to hold you up any longer than we already have,” Louis says. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“You as well!” the man chirps. He reaches into his carton and tosses a few yellow fruits their way. “A gift from me to you. Just got these in today from a trader. Enjoy yourselves, kids!” With that, he turns and leaves, taking a side road down into the main square. Harry looks down curiously at the fruit in his hand while Zayn sniffs at it from over his shoulder. 

“I’ve heard of those,” Louis says. “Think they’re called bananas? S’posed to peel it, I think. Here.” Louis takes it from Harry’s hands and peels the sides until the mushy center is revealed. “Then you eat it.”

Harry hesitantly takes a bite. His face lights up a second later and he gobbles the rest of it in two more bites. “What have I been missing out on?” he wonders aloud. 

Louis snorts and rests his hand on the dip of his back to lead him forward. “Let’s just find out, shall we?”

***

The closer they get to the crowd, the more anxious Harry feels. The sounds keep getting louder and they keep coming across more and more people; they all have friendly smiles on their faces that genuinely surprise Harry. He still half expects someone to fly from out of nowhere and try to chop his hair off. At least he knows Louis would protect him.

After walking for a few moments, Louis pauses in his tracks and looks down the street to his left. He gives Harry a quick glance and bites his lip like he’s considering something.

“Harry,” he starts, trailing off and crossing his arms awkwardly while he kicks at a pebble on the street with the worn toe of his boot. “Would you like to see where I grew up? Was just thinking, like, I probably won’t be back here for awhile and I want to see it one more time, maybe? You don’t have to come, I’m sure Zayn’ll watch over you like the guard dog he is.” Zayn snorts indelicately and chomps his teeth together, proving Louis’ point. 

“Of course I’ll come,” Harry responds. “You saw where I grew up after all.” He chuckles awkwardly and bounces on the soles of his feet. “Lead the way!”

The walk is a short one, just a few buildings down the street Louis stops and sighs. There are children outside, playing in their own groups while a tired-looking elderly woman watches them from the doorway. Harry reads the sign above the door: Hattaway’s Home for Needy Children.

“Louis,” Harry murmurs. 

Louis gives him a weak but not contrived smile. “No pity, Curly. I had a very good life here. The woman who used to work here, Jay, she was like a real mother to me. I was like a proper older brother to some of the kids here. She headed up north a few years ago with a group of them, actually. Think I might pay her a visit after this.” He shrugs and scratches at his neck. 

Harry is searching for something to say when he feels a gentle tug on his left hand. He looks down a sees a young girl with bright blonde ringlets smiling up at him. 

“Hi!” she chirps in greeting. “I’m Rosie. You have very pretty hair.”

“As do you,” Harry responds with a grin. He tugs at one of her curls, making her giggle. 

“My friends and I were wondering if we could braid it,” she says shyly. 

Without much thought, Harry plops himself down on the ground and shakes his hair out in offering while Louis watches him with a fond smile. Rosie shrieks happily and motions for her friends to come over. 

“See how pretty his hair is?” she whispers to her friends. 

“I want hair like him!” a boy replies. 

“Me too,” Louis says conspiratorially. Harry blushes and averts his eyes while the children work their magic. They pluck white and yellow flowers from the box on their windowsill and weave them into the braid that they form along the right side of his head. 

When they’re done, the children tuck more flowers around the edges to make a crown of flowers that frames his face. He stands and lets the children drag him over to the window to catch a glance at himself in the reflection. 

“You look like a little flower princess,” Louis calls out from behind him.

“Not a princess,” Harry shoots back in a sing-song voice. “You like it?” He bites his lip and looks back at Louis, who’s busied himself playing hopscotch on the street with a few of the other children.

Louis looks up and grins. “Your hair is always wonderful and always curly, darling, but this is a new high, I think.”

Harry beams back at him, preening at the praise. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing games with the children; Zayn lets a few of them ride him down the street while Niall entertains the others by blending in with the grass and playing tag. Nerves are forgotten entirely as Harry watches Louis chase the children around, making them giggle wildly with happiness.

***

They bid farewell to the orphanage just as the sun goes down, politely declining the elderly caretaker’s offers of letting them stay for dinner. Louis knows all too well that food supplies run short in that home; he wouldn’t want to impose by stretching their meal to include two men and a temperamental horse. Instead they walk into town and catch the merchants as they’re just about to pack up for the evening. Louis gets a discount on a loaf of bread and some fruits and watches in amusement as Harry munches happily on another banana, tendrils of hair from his braid coming untucked and falling into his eyes.

Before he knows it, it’s nearly time for the release of the lanterns. They leave Niall and Zayn back at the shore while Louis paddles them out to the middle of the lake. From there, they sit and wait.

“Are you nervous?” Louis asks after watching Harry bite at his nails for the fifth time in ten minutes. 

Harry wrinkles his nose and shrugs, plucking at a loose thread in his trousers. “I’ve just been waiting for this for as long as I can remember, you know? My entire life seems to have led up to this point. What do I do after this?”

Louis takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“Come with me,” he blurts. Harry looks up sharply in surprise. “Please don’t go back to the tower. I don’t know where I’m going, really, and that’s probably terrifying for you, but I want you with me. Please.”

Harry stares at him in silence. Louis starts to think he’s cocked it all up, that Harry will demand he paddle them to shore and leave, when he finally speaks up. “I was going to tell you earlier. I don’t think I can go back. Not anymore. It’s not home, really, I--,” he trails off and gives a short, bitter laugh. “I’m not sure it ever really was. Of course I’ll come with you.”

Louis lets out a relieved breath and surges forward to kiss Harry, jostling the boat precariously. It’s a quick kiss, but it still manages to take his breath away. Harry keeps his eyes closed after they pull apart and Louis brushes his thumb over his chin, watching his dark eyelashes flutter against the top of his cheekbone. 

A reflection of light against the bottom of the boat catches Louis’ attention. He turns and sees the first lantern, the one released by the King and Queen, start to soar high into the sky. 

“Look,” Louis whispers.

Harry blinks his eyes open and turns to look up towards the sky. He gasps and spins around, grasping the edge of the boat as he pushes himself forward to watch eagerly. Once the King and Queen’s is up in the air, the others are released at once. The entire lake is illuminated with soft golden light, bathing Harry and Louis in its glow. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Harry murmurs in awe. “Why do they do this?”

Louis clears his throat and looks away at Harry’s sparkling eyes; he’s struck for a moment by the thought that he’d take watching Harry over the lanterns any day. “About fourteen years ago the prince was kidnapped from the castle while everyone slept. The King and Queen were devastated obviously, but they’ve never given up hope I guess. They release the lanterns every year in the hopes he’ll see them and come home.” He pauses and shrugs. “Personally, I think he’s dead, but it’s a nice thought anyway.”

“That’s so sad,” Harry cries. “I thought they were celebrating something, not...that.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s nice,” Louis says. “The lanterns led me to you, didn’t they Princess?”

Harry smiles, looking back at the lanterns and resting his chin on his hands. “Why do you call me that? I told you, I’m not a princess.”

“Because you’re pretty,” Louis answers honestly. “First thing I noticed about you. You’re absolutely lovely, Harry.” He reaches over and tucks one of Harry’s curls behind his ear. “Thought you deserved a nickname to show that.”

“Princes can be pretty too, can’t they?” Harry asks.

Louis gives Harry a once over and nods, affection written all over his face. “They most certainly can, little prince.”

***

The lanterns are sure to burn for a few more hours into the night, so Harry and Louis paddle back to their campsite after an hour to watch from their makeshift bed. They take an impromptu bath in the lake when Harry falls out of the boat on his way out.

“Might as well get clean!” he chirps, shedding his shirt and tossing it onto the land. Louis gulps and watches with bated breath as the golden light shines all over Harry’s pale skin as he dunks his hair in water. He averts his eyes when Harry whips his head back, his hair long and dark and straight, resting against his collarbones. Louis sheds his clothes as well, tossing them near Harry’s as he tries to clean himself, both physically and mentally. 

He hears the sound of water churning from behind and spins around; Zayn and Niall swim past him to shore, each giving him a suspicious look. He’d thought he’d bonded with Niall earlier, but judging from the way they glance protectively between him and Harry, there is obviously still some distrust there. Zayn shakes himself off on land and heads with Niall towards a shady tree, plopping himself down to sleep after giving Louis one last hard look.

“Christ,” he mutters. Harry hums from his side in question. “Zayn and Niall don’t seem to like me very much.”

“Niall loves you,” Harry protests. “He told me he thinks you’re very funny.”

“He told you...right. Well he doesn’t show it. Zayn must be rubbing off on him.”

“Zayn likes you just fine,” Harry soothes. “Just give him some time to get over the fact that you’re a criminal.”

Louis makes the mistake of looking over at Harry when he turns around to scoff. He has his arms raised high above his head as he twists and turns, stretching out his back. His mouth almost waters at the sight and he wonders idly if he’s a complete and utter pervert. Probably.

When they finally climb out of the lake minutes later, Louis turns his back to tie the boat back up and allow Harry some privacy as Harry gets redressed. When Harry’s done, he climbs into their makeshift bed and looks up at the sky, giving Louis the chance to dress as well.

Climbing in beside Harry, the other boy curls up against him automatically, resting his head on his chest as he watches the lanterns in what’s probably their last hour of light. They’ve only dimmed slightly, the golden wash of light still giving a warm radiance to all of their surroundings. 

“Thank you,” Harry whispers into his chest. 

Louis strokes his hand down the knobs of Harry’s spine and shrugs as much as he can with Harry’s weight on his body. “It was nothing,” he answers.

“No.” Harry shakes his head and looks up at him, chin resting on his chest. “You’ve made me so happy.” He ducks his head down and presses small kisses at the juncture of Louis’ neck and his shoulder. Louis’ pulse starts to race at the innocent touch.

“Yeah, well. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger a bit, darling.” Harry sighs happily and continues nosing around Louis’ neck, tickling his sensitive skin with little puffs of air. 

“Can we kiss?” he asks. “I’m not very tired.”

As if Louis would say no, with the way Harry looks up at him through fluttering lashes, his long hair drying in tight curls against his neck. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life kissing him if he could. 

Instead of answering, he simply leans toward him and presses his lips against the side of his mouth. He switches to the other side, repeating the motion as Harry watches him eagerly. He moves up and kisses the space in between his eyebrows, his nose, his dimples, and then finally, once Harry opens his mouth to whine, his lips. He nibbles gently on Harry’s pillowy bottom lip as Harry twists his head to the side to give him better access.

Louis wiggles around until Harry lies flat on his back with Louis’ torso draped half over his body. He cups Harry’s jaw with his right hand as he starts to lick at the seam of his lips, asking for more. Harry’s lips stay resolutely shut, however, so Louis pulls back after a moment to give him a questioning look, wondering if he’s gone too far. 

“Are you alright?” Louis asks. Harry nods his head quickly, but he looks confused. “Did you not want to do that?”

“No, no, I do!” Harry assures him. “I just--I don’t know what to do? Why were our mouths open?”

Louis is struck by the recurring realization that Harry is _innocent_. Locked in a tower his entire life, he surely hasn’t learned to do the things Louis knows how to do. So he’ll just have to teach him, then.

“It’s easier to just show you,” Louis answers. “So just follow my lead. Tell me if you don’t like anything.” 

The golden lights have dimmed just a bit more, filtering shadows across Harry’s open face. He nods eagerly and tugs Louis forward, fingers wrapped around the hairs on the nape of his neck. “Open your mouth.”

This time, when Louis touches Harry’s lips, he meets no resistance. He licks along Harry’s bottom lip first and then dips in, searching for Harry’s tongue. The other boy catches on rather quick, working with some sort of dormant instinct that tells him how to use his mouth. Harry’s lips are so smooth beneath his, pouty and pliant; Louis loses himself almost immediately. 

Harry isn’t much better. Once he has a taste of Louis’ mouth, he can’t seem to get enough. He tugs Louis even closer until he’s laying entirely on top of him, until Louis can feel every inch of his soft body beneath his. He curls his fingers through Harry’s hair and tugs gently; Harry moans into his mouth and gasps, jerking his head back. Louis takes the opportunity to attach his lips to his neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive veins along his throat. 

Harry gasps out his name and spreads his legs, pushing up against him while simultaneously pushing Louis down. It’s then that Louis realizes he needs to slow things down before they head down a path Harry might not be ready for. He lifts himself back up to the other boy’s face and lifts himself onto his knees, carefully keeping his body off of Harry’s. Harry whines in protest of course, trying to tug him back, but he stays firm. 

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” Louis offers. 

Frowning, Harry shakes his head from side to side in frustration. “I liked what we were doing just fine, thank you.”

“Yes, well what we were doing was getting a little too heavy, doll,” he says. “I don’t want to push you. Kissing can sometimes lead to...things. Things I don’t think you’re ready for.”

Harry rolls his eyes and pouts. “Could you let me be the judge of that? I don’t see what’s so wrong…”

“Sex,” Louis blurts. 

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he replies, huffing out a breath. “I’m not sure how much you know about it, locked up in your tower as you were, but it involves certain appendages,” Louis pauses, glancing meaningfully at his crotch, “Going into certain entrances.” He tickles his hands along the skin of Harry’s thighs and waggles his eyebrows. “And ideally it’s between a couple who love each other very much. Kind of a big deal. Thus why we should sleep.”

“But I think I want that,” Harry protests. “The sex. If you want it too, I mean.”

Louis flounders, mouth gaping open and shut in shock. “You want? That? With me? Right now?”

“Yes,” Harry answers decisively. “Very much a lot. I really like you, Louis. You make me feel…” he wavers off, looking towards the water. “You know how warm you feel when you look at the lanterns?” Louis nods as he carries on, “That’s how you make me feel _always_. I just -- I want you. In every way I can have you.”

“You already have me,” Louis whispers, placing a small kiss at Harry’s temple.

Harry smiles and bites his lip, splaying out his body on the blanket. “Then have all of me too.”

Louis kisses him again, this time letting his hands roam free on the other boy’s body. He tickles his fingers along Harry’s sides and lets his hands slip under his loose-fitting shirt to grip at the soft flesh of his hips. He rubs his thumbs along his hipbones while Harry groans and arches into his touch. Louis leans back suddenly and pulls Harry up to take his shirt off. Once it’s gone, Louis does the same and pushes Harry back down, touching every inch of bare skin he can get his hands on. He gently swirls the pads of his fingertips against Harry’s right nipple, taking the sight of two extra nipples in stride. He shuffles downward and licks one of them for good measure, swirling his tongue around it until it’s a deep rosy pink, stark in contrast against his pale white chest.

Harry moans brokenly and clutches at Louis’ hair as he moves down, kissing the sensitive skin of his gently rounded belly. He looks up at Harry as he moves lower, pressing his lips against the tented material of his trousers. He watches as Harry flushes and bites his lip, sweat beading along his forehead. Ever so slowly, Louis tucks his fingers into his waistband and tugs it down his hips, kissing every inch of his skin as it comes into view. He keeps his eyes trained on Harry, however, studying every reaction he has to his touch. There’s something heady in the knowledge that this is the first time Harry’s ever been touched like this that takes Louis’ breath away.

When he gets Harry’s trousers down to his calves, he climbs onto his knees and pulls them entirely off, throwing them to the side. He glances across the small clearing and sees Zayn and Niall asleep, completely unaware of what they’re getting up to. He thanks his lucky stars for that one. Harry draws his attention back to him by hooking his leg over Louis’ hip, dragging him back on top of him. He lets out a delighted giggle when Louis stumbles onto him with a quiet _oof_ , hands splayed out on either side of Harry’s head to catch his balance. 

“Hi,” he whispers, tickling his long white fingers across Louis’ face, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. Louis smiles and leans into the touch for a moment before ducking down to give him a peck on the mouth. He lets his hand slide down Harry’s body, gripping at his hip for a moment before sliding around to press gently into the flesh of his arse. Harry pants into his mouth and closes his eyes while Louis eases himself down the blanket. He finally allows himself a look at Harry’s body and barely contains a gulp when he looks at his cock, half-hard against his lower belly. 

While Harry’s eyes are still shut, Louis wraps his fist around the tip, twisting his palm around and then sliding down to the base. Harry’s legs spread wide open automatically, hips surging weakly into the contact. “Beautiful,” Louis murmurs, bending down to kiss the head. 

“Oh,” Harry mewls. “That’s nice.”

Louis won’t settle for just “nice.” He darts his tongue out for a taste, swirling it around the tip as Harry writhes against the blanket, affected wildly by even the smallest touch. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock and then leads it into his open mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks down, down, _down_ until his lips meet his fingers.

Crying out his name, Harry’s hands clench around the blanket and then shoot down to Louis’ head, threading through his hair. He doesn’t do anything with him, doesn’t try to direct his movements or push upwards; Louis gives a hum of satisfaction at that and rewards Harry by moving his hand away and sucking him down to the base.

“Oh my _God_!” Harry screams. Panicked that he’ll wake Zayn up and start an angry, protective stampede, Louis pulls off with a _pop_ and covers Harry’s mouth with his own, swallowing his cries. The kiss serves as a distraction at least; when they pull apart, Harry is panting, short of breath as he grinds against Louis’ thigh. 

“More,” he pleads. 

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” Louis reminds him. “Can you do that for me?”

Harry nods eagerly and knocks his forehead against Louis’. He doesn’t really believe him, but he’s also caring less and less about the repercussions of being overheard. He has greater things to concern himself with, like the way Harry’s cock is leaking through the thin fabric of Louis’ trousers. He shuffles back down and searches the foot of their makeshift bed for his satchel. Digging around the bottom, he lets out a triumphant cry when he finds what he’s looking for, a small vial of oil he kept tucked in at the bottom. Officially there as part of his medical kit, but serving multiple...purposes in his opinion. 

When he turns back, he nearly drops the bottle at the sight of Harry, fist wrapped around his cock as his other hand dusts along his chest. Louis watches him for a moment, transfixed by the sight before he shakes himself out of it and knocks Harry’s hand away, replacing it with his own. 

In an impressive show of dexterity that he’d brag about in any other circumstance, Louis manages to get the bottle open and squeeze a good amount into his palm. He stops his other hand long enough to catch Harry’s attention and ask, “I’m going to use my fingers to open you up, pet. Are you ready?”

Harry nods enthusiastically in response, spreading his legs even further apart in invitation. Louis spreads the lubricant around his fingers, coating them thoroughly until they’re nearly dripping wet. 

He decides to ease Harry into it, massaging the pads of his fingers against his entrance. Harry whimpers loudly and then catches himself, sealing his lips together to muffle his noises. Louis doesn’t need to hear him to know how affected he is, however; the look on Harry’s face is enough, face flushed and eyebrows creased with pleasure. 

When he finally presses one of his fingers inside, slowly easing his way in and brushing lightly along Harry’s velvety walls, Harry nearly dissolves into the blanket. He spreads himself as far as he can go, pushing into the contact while arching his back seductively. If Louis was a painter, he’d want to immortalize this image forever. He settles for cupping the dip of Harry’s waist with his free hand, brushing his fingers against the small of his back. He sweeps the tips of his fingers against the swell of his arse while he adds a second finger, crooking them towards himself to try and find the spot inside of Harry that will drive him wild. 

He knows he’s found it when Harry’s eyes shoot open and he has twist his head and bite at the blanket beneath him to keep quiet. Louis quickly adds another finger and keeps the pressure on that spot, circling and swirling until Harry’s muscles are straining. He gives him a moment of relief, pulling his fingers back only to press them back harder. Harry pushes into the contact, starting a determined rhythm as he works himself onto Louis’ fingers. 

Louis can only sit back and watch as Harry takes over, undulating himself onto his hand like he was born for it. 

He tells Harry as much, whispering dirtily into his ear while Harry gasps quietly and pushes his cheek against Louis’ face. Louis breathes into his neck and nibbles at the sensitive skin, kissing his way down to the dip of his throat.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes, pressing his lips in the center of his chest. 

Harry has the presence of mind to protest, mutterly weakly that Louis’ the incredible one. Louis just laughs breathlessly and shakes his head, fucking his fingers into him twice more before pulling out. Harry whimpers and grabs at Louis’ hand, trying to pull him back. He gives up once he sees Louis’ next move, unbuttoning the front of his trousers and standing briefly to push them down to his feet. He kicks them away and kneels down onto the blanket above Harry. He kisses him once and pulls back.

“Are you positive you--.”

“Yes,” Harry interrupts. “One hundred percent.” To punctuate his statement, he wraps his hand around Louis’ cock, staring down in wonder as he caresses the soft skin. Louis exhales heavily as Harry pumps him loosely in his fist with unconcealed awe written across his face. When he tightens his grip, sliding his hand faster and more determinedly around his length, Louis has to pull away to keep things from ending too soon. Harry pouts but stays put as Louis grabs the bottle once more to slick himself up.

As he directs the head of his cock to Harry’s entrance, he keeps his eyes trained on the other boy’s face. His green doe eyes somehow shine even brighter than the last vestiges of the lanterns. Those eyes flutter shut when Louis finally pushes inside, ever so slowly. 

Louis struggles to contain the groan that fights to erupt from his chest. Harry feels indescribable, really, his body tight and warm and _right_ around his cock. 

He stays still, ignoring the twisting sensation in his lower half telling him to _go, go, go_ out of deference to Harry, who’s still quiet and motionless beneath him. 

“Are you alright?” Louis asks, lifting one hand to brush hair away from Harry’s eyes.

Opening his eyes, Harry gives him a watery smile. Louis almost panics at the sight of his tears and prepares to pull out and swaddle him in blankets and kisses, but Harry pulls him back right as he starts to move. “Don’t,” he protests. “I’m just really overwhelmed.” He laughs wetly and holds out his arms for a hug. Louis wraps him up in his embrace, mumbling endearments into his hair. When he pulls away, a determined look passes over Harry’s face. He wiggles his lower half from side to side and lets out a hiss when Louis bottoms out completely, his hips nestled against his arse.

“Feels weird,” he says. “But good. Can you -- can you move?” he asks.

Louis pulls out slowly and lets out a weak grunt at the feel of Harry squeezing him tight. He thrusts back inside as gently as he can and smiles when Harry moans quietly and squeezes at his forearms. 

“Keep going,” he pleads. 

And Louis does. He keeps a steady pace, fucking in deep and slow while Harry writhes against his body, spreading his legs wide and then wrapping them around Louis’ hips.

“So good, so good, so good,” Harry mumbles. He wraps himself around Louis’ torso and digs his blunt nails into his shoulder blades while Louis gradually moves faster, keeping his thrusts deep but more forceful. He jostles Harry with every thrust until Harry has to dig into his skin harder just to keep himself anchored.

Harry’s cock brushes against Louis’ lower belly with every thrust, smearing precome all over his skin. Harry whines lowly and reaches for his length, but Louis bats his hand away and keeps it pressed down against the blanket above Harry’s head. The other boy whines louder at that and starts to buck into Louis’ cock like he’d done with his fingers.

“That’s it, love,” Louis croons. He starts aiming his thrusts against where he knows Harry’s spot is; when he finds it Harry arches off of the blanket and gasps, scraping his free hand down the length of Louis’ back.

Once he’s found it, he doesn’t relent. He keeps pounding at it fiercely, circling his hips and dragging the head of his cock against the same spot. 

“I’m--I feel-- _Louis_ ,” Harry wheezes. 

“Just let go,” Louis urges. “Let it happen, Princess.”

Harry’s eyes shoot open at the pet name. It seems to have served as the push he needed, because mere moments later he comes, his entire body drawing itself taught; his legs fall from Louis’ hips and jerk out at his sides while his hole clenches impossibly tight around Louis’ dick, drawing his own orgasm out from him. Louis spills inside of him with a loud grunt and buries his head in Harry’s chest. He listens to the furious pounding of Harry’s heart as he struggles to catch his breath. When Louis finally feels composed enough to function, he lifts his head and watches Harry come down from his high. His body is flushed and sweaty and beautiful, glimmering in the moonlight like something out of a painting. 

“Beautiful,” Louis sighs. Harry gives him a glassy-eyed grin and ducks his head to nuzzle at Louis’ open palm. 

Louis musters the energy to grab his dirty shirt to clean themselves off. Harry wrinkles his nose at the sensation of come trickling out of his arse, but he quietly admits to Louis that he actually really likes it. Louis tries not to choke on his own breath as he cleans him up there as well. He dresses him back in his clothes to keep him warm, cuddling him tight afterward with Harry’s head burrowed into the space under Louis’ arm. The last thing he sees before he drifts off is Harry’s slack, peaceful face, swathed in dim golden light and the light of the moon, a small smile etched into his face even in sleep.

“My little moon baby,” he murmurs into his temple as he falls asleep.

***

Harry knows something’s wrong before he opens his eyes. The warmth of the night before is gone and the only trace of it is the pleasant ache he feels in his body. He blinks his eyes open against the sunlight and sees an empty space beside him. Trying not to panic, he rolls over but Louis isn’t there either.

He sits up and twists every way around, looking for any sign of him. He’s gone.

“Louis?” he calls. Silence.

“He left, pumpkin.” Harry screeches in surprise and turns to find Mother leaning against a nearby tree. She wears an expression of poorly disguised smugness as she saunters over to Harry and sighs dramatically. “Left you high and dry, dearest. Couldn’t get away fast enough, really, just grabbed the boat and left you sleeping here.”

Harry’s heart throbs painfully in his chest. _Louis wouldn’t_ , his heart screams. _He wouldn’t leave._

“No,” Harry whispers. He clears his throat and tucks his knees under his chin, staring down at his toes. “He wouldn’t leave me.”

“Oh, but he did, pookie,” she simpers. “I won’t say I told you so, but. Well. I told you so. Why didn’t you just _listen_ to me, Harry.” 

“I’ve listened to you my entire life,” Harry argues hotly. He stands and crosses his arms in defiance, glaring down his nose at Mother. “And that served me so well. I was _terrified_ of the outside world because of you, yet two nights outside of it and I never want to go back home. You _lied_ to me.”

Mother gasps and clutches her hand to her chest. “I _never_. You’re being insolent, Harry. You’ve already changed. This is what I was trying to save you from.”

“Happiness?” Harry asks. “You were trying to save me from happiness?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffs, fluffing her wiry hair in a careless gesture. “You know that’s not it. Now, if you’d stop being a child, I’d like to start the journey home please.” She turns to leave, dusting her hands against the skirt of her dress and picking up her cloak from a nearby branch.

“No.” Harry’s voice is quiet but firm. 

Mother turns slowly and gives him a deadly smile, her white teeth glinting icily in the sunlight. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Harry turns away from her and starts gathering the blanket and spare clothing littered around their campsite. “I’m not coming with you. I’m going to find Louis.”

“Louis,” she groans. “Louis, Louis, _Louis_. I watched that criminal leave, you know. Looked like he didn’t have a care in the world while he tip-toed around you, trying not to wake you up. Guess he wanted to make a clean run for it, spare the waterworks.” She sighs and arches her brow at Harry, giving him a judgmental once-over. “He got what he wanted from you, obviously. Really, what were you thinking giving it up to ‘The Tommo’?” She scoffs derisively at the nickname and gives him a cruel smile.

A very small, very insecure part of Harry tries to shrivel up instantly; a few days ago he probably would have believed Mother and gone home with her immediately, humiliated at being fooled so horribly. But Louis’ words from earlier ring around in his head. _Manipulative_. He gives Mother a scrutinizing glance. It’s there, the look in her eyes. The look that’s been there as long as he can remember -- a distant expression, cold and calculating. Try as he might, he can’t find an ounce of love hidden in her face. 

He thinks back on his entire childhood then. The long periods of solitude where all he had for a friend was a chameleon who can’t talk -- not that Niall isn’t great, because he _is_ \-- but if Mother loved him she would have been there. The only times she stayed were when she wanted Harry to sing. She called him her “Secret Anti-Aging Treatment” as a joke, but...he doesn’t think it was anymore. 

The realization that he’s been used by the one woman he was supposed to trust implicitly hits him like a ton of bricks. He tries not to show it, reluctant to show any hint of weakness to her anymore. 

He busies himself by rearranging the items in Louis’ satchel. His hands hit a heavy piece of metal at the bottom; he grins as he pushes the blanket to the side and sees the crown. If Louis really were to leave as cold-heartedly as Mother claimed, he certainly wouldn’t have left that behind. His resolve strengthens; he straightens his back and clears his throat as he closes the satchel and spins around to face Mother. 

“You’re wrong,” he says quietly yet firmly. 

Mother’s eyebrow arches in surprise as she scoffs and tilts her head dangerously. “I’m _what_ , pumpkin?”

“Wrong,” Harry replies, gulping and taking a steadying breath. “You’re wrong about Louis and you were wrong about the tower and you’re wrong about _everything_. I’m not going back with you.”

Harry had forgotten about the existence of his frying pan until just then, when Mother grabs it from the ground and waves it towards his temple. Everything goes black.

***

Waking up tied to a boat ranks among one of the oddest morning-afters Louis has ever experienced. He blinks his eyes against the sunlight and shakes his head to clear the fog that seems to be clouding it. Only then does he realize that his entire torso has been thoroughly roped to the seat of the boat. He gasps and tries to twist his head from side to side in search of Harry.

“Hey Curly?” he calls. “You in the water by any chance?”

“Tommo.” Louis whips around and looks toward the shore where he sees the entirety of the palace’s guards lined up in welcome. A very unfriendly welcome. Several of the guards march their way toward the boat with shackles in hand. “You are hereby placed under arrest for numerous counts of thievery against the Kingdom: including, but not limited to, the Royal Crown.”

There’s a moment where Louis’ stomach positively sinks with the knowledge that he’s finally been caught after all these years. That feeling is quickly replaced, however, by pure blind panic about Harry’s whereabouts. Harry’s one of the strongest boys he’s ever met, but he certainly can’t be left all alone without any warning. Christ, what if he thinks Louis left willingly? He’ll never forgive himself.

“Where’s Harry?” he asks. 

The head guard gives him an unimpressed look as the ropes are untied and he’s led off the boat. “That one of your thugs?” he asks. “You came here alone, Tommo. Showed up on shore like a wrapped-up present.”

Louis frowns and stumbles in his steps as the guards drag him along toward the village. Nothing makes _sense_. 

Try as he might, none of the guards seem inclined to try and answer his questions on their march towards the castle. Louis suspects that they truly don’t know anything until one of them slips.

“Pigeon flew to us this morning and told us you’d be waiting at the shore,” the gruff-voiced man admits. “No signature or anything. Just called you a thug and said you needed to be dealt with.”

 _Very reassuring,_ Louis thinks. 

Townspeople watch curiously from the streets as Louis is paraded down the path in shackles. When they pass the orphanage, a few of the children he recognizes from yesterday hurry out the door.

“Louis!” one of the girl yells. He remembers her as the shy young girl who braided Harry’s hair with flowers. 

“Hello darling,” he says with a grimace. Seeing him in shackles is not exactly an image he wants them to remember him by. 

“What happened? Where’s Harry?” she asks, running alongside the guards who seem wholly uninterested in the little child’s actions.

“Not sure,” Louis answers. “Kind of lost him, I think.” The little girl looks just as shattered as Louis feels. Just as shattered as Harry probably feels right about now as well, he thinks. An idea hits him.

“Darling, if you see Harry can you tell him something for me?” the girl nods quickly, so he continues, “Tell him I didn’t leave him and that I’ve been arrested, and. Well, tell him I love him a bit, yeah?” The girl coos and nods, shaking her little braids. 

“Run along home now, sweetheart. Thank you so much.”

“Good luck, Louis!” she calls, turning in her tracks and racing back to the orphanage. 

Louis sighs and looks forward as he blinks away the tears that rim his eyes.

***

Harry wakes up tied onto the back of a horse. He’s confused for a moment because the horse’s coat is nowhere near as beautiful and silky as Zayn’s. It only takes a second for him to realize that’s because _he’s not on Zayn’s back_. He twists and lets out a soft cry as a flash of pain shoots through his temple. He weakly reminds himself to apologize to Louis for hitting him the next time he sees him. _If_ he sees him again, he bitterly reminds himself.

He frowns and shakes his head; now is no time for pessimism. He ignores the pain in his head and wiggles himself from side to side, finding that his restraints are weaker than he would’ve thought. Mother’s sitting inches away from him, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on behind her as the horse gallops loudly through the forest. 

Ever so slowly, Harry contorts his left hand and slowly starts to slip it free from the binding.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Mothers voice floats above the sound of hooves. Not oblivious, then. 

Helpless, Harry searches all around him for anything that could possibly help him get away. Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing besides copious amounts of trees. He stares forlornly at the trodden path behind him, wishing Louis would come and save him. 

A flash of white in the distance catches his eye. He squints and tries to see what it is, letting out an excited huff of breath when it comes closer: Zayn. A very, _very_ furious Zayn, hot on their tails. He reminds Harry faintly of the dragons he’s read about in his books, ready to breathe fire and destroy. Gaining ground quickly, Harry sees an equally angry Niall holding onto the flowing locks of Zayn’s mane. Harry grins and squirms in his bindings once more. 

“What did I tell you --,” Mother starts, cutting off abruptly when she peeks behind her shoulder and sees Zayn approaching fast. She kicks her heels against the horse they’re on to spur it on faster, but it’s no match for Zayn who rides up along their side and chomps at Mother’s fingers. Their horse becomes startled and stops in its tracks, kicking it’s feet restlessly against the ground as Zayn paces around them.

“Leave now, you beast,” Mother calls, a small quiver of fear hidden in her voice. Zayn pays her no mind and comes face to face with their horse. He blinks his beautiful eyes once and nudges his nose against the other one’s. The other horse whinnies softly and almost immediately drops its hind quarters; Zayn comes around and chomps at the loosened ropes around Harry’s wrists until he’s free. He’s _free_. 

He stumbles onto his shaky legs and spins around only to see the other horse take off furiously into the distance with Mother on its back, calling out reprimands and begging it to stop. He figures they only have a few minutes to spare, so Harry hurriedly climbs onto Zayn’s back as he heads back the way they came at a steady but speedy pace. Harry strokes Zayn’s mane and lets a relieved Niall climb onto his shoulder.

“You saved me,” Harry says. Zayn flicks his head to the side and grunts easily like it was nothing. “You flirted with that horse, didn’t you Zayn?”

A delighted whinny is all he gets in response.

They make it back to the lake in under an hour, but Harry is faced with an immediate dilemma. Their boat is gone, presumably taken by Louis under whatever circumstances led him back to the village. Harry wheels around in panic, searching for anything that can take him across the lake. Zayn huffs impatiently and nudges at Harry’s arm. Once he has his attention, he walks into the water and waits there. Oh. _Oh_. 

“Zayn, you beautiful, beautiful horse,” Harry murmurs. “I’m going to give you so many apples when all of this is over.” 

They make it across the lake sopping wet but accomplished. Harry is struck by the bleak realization that he has no idea what to do now. How does he find Louis? He’s by himself in a village he doesn’t know well with no idea of what to do. He can’t just sit there, he knows, so he sets off on the same path he took with Louis the day before, this time with a much bigger sense of fear. The nerves from yesterday are nothing compared to the worry that he’ll never find Louis.

He passes by all of the same houses until he comes across an exceptionally familiar one. The orphanage. With Zayn hovering a few feet away, he trudges over to the door and knocks. The sound of screaming children and the pitter-patter of dozens of feet fill his ears while he waits. 

The door opens a few minutes later and a sea of doe eyes peer up at him curiously. 

“Um,” he wavers. “Hello again.”

“Harry!” a small voice pipes up. Shoving her way to the front, Rosie gives him a beaming grin. “You came! I was so worried you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, well. I’m not here for braids unfortunately, I--.”

“I know why you’re here,” she interrupts. She places her small hands on her hips and gives him a very serious look. “You’re trying to find Louis.”

Harry’s eyes widen in response. “You’ve seen him?” he asks excitedly. “Is he here? Where--.”

“Not here,” Rosie answers sadly. “He was arrested.”

Harry’s heart plummets, one of his worst fears confirmed. _Arrested._ Harry’s chin quivers as he tries not to cry; he rubs his palms over his eyes and tries to think of his next move.

“He told me to tell you he didn’t mean to leave you,” she adds. “And that he loves you.” 

Harry gasps and drops his hands as he gives Rosie a surprised look. She shrugs and grins toothily. 

He loves him. Louis loves him. _Louis_ loves _Harry_. His mind races while he tries to organize his thoughts. Obviously he needs a plan, because he is certainly not going another minute of his life without Louis if he can help it. (He _loves_ him, he thinks.) 

“Do you know where he’s being held?” he asks. 

“The castle has a dungeon,” another voice pops in. A small boy with mischievous blue eyes that remind him a lot of Louis steps forward. “We can help you get in.” The rest of the orphans chorus their agreement, already chattering amongst themselves excitedly. Children are quite wonderful, Harry realizes. Once he’s got Louis back he thinks he’ll have some. A dozen, maybe. 

But first. The dungeon.

He and the children huddle up on the street while the boy ringleader reveals his plan.

***

The dungeon, shockingly enough, is not an especially pleasant place to be. There’s a snoring behemoth of a man sleeping against a wall and a decidedly very _awake_ behemoth of a man staring him down from across their shared cell.

“So,” he says. “Anyone have a deck of cards to play with? I could go for a round of Go Fish, meself.”

He gets an almost feral growl in response.

“Guess that’s a no,” he breathes. 

Time passes by at a crawl, mostly because Louis has no idea what time it actually _is_. There are no windows to tell Louis if the sun is still shining, so he’s left to wonder just how Harry is coping. Surely he’s been awake for awhile and surely he thinks Louis left him like a prick. He thumps his head back against the stone wall and groans quietly to himself. They’d been so close to freedom. When they woke up they were supposed to leave for another land and carve out their new beginnings, but that’s all been shot to hell in the worst way. He’s never going to see Harry again. 

He doesn’t want to cry in front of the other prisoners so he bends his knees to his chest and rests his cheek against his thighs, staring at the bars of the cell. The guards stand stoically in absolute silence outside. 

Louis almost falls into a restless sleep when he hears a noise. A small sniffle approaching the cell. The guards shift minutely, making Louis think he’s not just imagining things. The small sniffle grows louder, becoming an outright _sob_ until the source of it makes itself visible. A little boy approaches the guards and gazes up at them with watery blue eyes.

“Where’s my mother?” he croaks. “I’m lost and I can’t find my mummy.” With that, he breaks into full blown tears. Louis is moved for a moment until he gets the sudden impression that he’s witnessing a startlingly impressive display of crocodile tears. The boys wails become increasingly dramatic as the guards look at each other in discomfort. One of them kneels down and gets on the boy’s level to look him in the eye.

“How did you get in here?” he asks gruffly.

The child blinks at him for a few moments like he doesn’t understand the question. Then he grins. 

“Snuck in,” he answers. “With the others.”

“The others?” the second guard asks, looking down at the other in confusion. “What oth--.”

Suddenly, a stampede of children run down the hallway, yelling and screaming as they rush at the guards. The guards take off in a run, inexplicably scared at the sight of a horde of eight year olds. Louis is about to scoff at the odd scene when he sees another person come down the hallway. Two people, actually.

He gasps when Harry’s anxious face comes into view. He’s holding hands with Rosie who dangles a chain of keys in her small hand. 

Louis gasps out his name and rushes toward the bars of the cell. Harry runs to him and gives him a desperate kiss through the opening before pulling back and taking the ring of keys to unlock the cell. 

“How did you get here?” he asks. 

“It was all the orphans’ idea,” Harry answers. “We’ve got about two minutes to get out of here by my count so we need to hurry.” The cell opens with a loud _creak_ that makes Louis wince. He slips out and grabs ahold of Harry’s hand, breaking into a sprint as they both follow Rosie’s lead.

“I didn’t leave you,” Louis pants. “I just woke up tied to the boat with them waiting for me on shore.”

Harry squeezes his hand before answering, “I know. It was Mother.” He winces and shakes his head sadly as they turn a corner. “She tried to tell me you left on purpose, but I knew you’d never.” Louis’ heart swells with affection. 

“I love you, Princess,” he blurts.

Harry bites his lip and beams at him as they make their way down another corridor. “Rosie told me,” he answers. “I love you too. Lots.”

Their blissful haze is cut short by a loud clang; they look forward and see a small army of guards in front of them. They’re pushed aside by two regal figures who step into view, both with stormy expressions set like stone into their faces. The king and queen. Louis nearly faints.

“How dare you,” the Queen speaks lowly, her voice hard and cold. “You’ve stolen the last memory I have of my baby and you have the audacity to try and escape your punishment.”

Louis feels shame spread hotly through his body as he’s reprimanded like a child. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?” the King asks. 

The only sound is silence as Louis hangs his head low. Then Harry speaks.

“Mum?”

***

Harry felt nothing but terror when the guards came into view, but that soon faded as the man and woman stepped past them. He can’t explain what happened then, only that he felt the oddest sense of comfort. Once the woman’s eyes looked him over, he had the most vivid waking dream -- a hazy memory of a bright room and kind green eyes gazing down at him affectionately. A voice spoke to him in soothing, dulcet tones. The vision focused for just a second as a face came into view.

He knew in that instant, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was a real memory and this woman was his mother. His jaw drops as he looks from the woman to the man as they ask if they have anything to say.

“Mum?” his voice quivers.

She looks at him sharply, mouth opening and closing in surprise. “What did you say?”

“Are you -- are you my mother?” he asks. He looks towards the man and adds, “Are you my father?”

The woman walks forward and reaches for his hand in what seems like a practiced movement, almost as if she’s done this countless times before. She looks down at his wrist, right where his birthmark is, and lets out a startled cry. 

“Harry?” she asks, voice trembling. “Is it--you’re-- _baby_.” She wraps her arms around him in a fierce hug and Harry nearly stumbles as a wave of comfort and love and home courses through his entire body. He looks wide-eyed at the man as he hurries forward with tear-filled eyes and hugs him too. 

There are so many questions rushing through his head, but none of them make their way to his mouth. He simply stands there, overwhelmed, as he hugs his parents back. His _parents_. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the idea. 

They pull back eventually, holding him close still while they look him over in awe. 

Harry looks at Louis and sees the same expression mirrored in his beautiful face. 

“I’m really confused,” Harry whispers. He holds out his hand for Louis and melts into his familiar embrace as he steps forward to wrap his arm around him. 

“You were stolen from us,” his mother says tearfully. “A very, very long time ago by a witch who wanted your gift.” She reaches out to softly pet at Harry’s hair. “And we’ve been looking for you ever since.”

“The lanterns?” Harry asks. 

She nods and raises a shaky hand to her mouth. “They were for you, baby.”

“Told you that you were a Princess,” Louis whispers into his ear. It’s enough to startle a breathless laugh from Harry. 

“A prince, apparently,” he corrects. His parents -- he wonders if he’ll ever get used to saying that -- look at the two of them with curiosity present on their teary faces. He figures a proper introduction is in order.

“This is Louis,” he starts. “I know you know him as The Tommo, but. Well. He’s my boyfriend. Can he not go back to the dungeon?”

“Of course,” his mother answers. “He brought you back to me, didn’t he?”

And yeah, Harry thinks, searching the other boy’s happy face. Louis brought him home.

***

Harry and Louis are welcomed into the family with open arms. Zayn is anointed the honor of Chief Royal Horse; mostly it means Harry and Louis feed him lots of apples and take him out for a ride everyday. He’s quite pleased. Niall becomes the unofficial palace mascot.

“Mother” is found weeks later in the tower, nothing but a pile of dust and robes.

***

Adjusting to royal life is easier than Louis expected it to be. Harry tells him that Louis was made for it, but Louis thinks that’s not it. The King and Queen, quickly getting over the whole thievery business, adjust quickly to having Louis in their lives. They treat him just as they would their son -- just as they treat Harry. He feels like he has a family now.

He gets to hold Harry close in an extravagantly luxurious bed every night and eat his meals with the King and Queen who _insist_ he call them Des and Anne (or, a little later, Mum and Dad). He’s not sure he could ask for anything more.

(He receives much more in the years that follow of course, in the form of a _husband_ and an entire brood of sparkly-eyed children. Harry continues to tell him every night that he knew Louis was a name fit for a prince.)

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to my pals who acted as my sounding board for this!!


End file.
